Above my right nipple is a small scar that has long since healed. But my memories of it are vivid, and I still rub at it absentmindedly from time to time.

Not every story ends here.But the ones that do are great.

Maybe a year or two after the first naked bar dance, my dart partner, The Terror, had gotten engaged to a wonderful woman from the bar we hung out in. He and the boys were out for his bachelor party, getting all sorts of drunk in all sorts of places. I was at the bar, drinking lightly, with a completely different group of friends from college.
And then worlds collided.

The Terror and the boys came back. Even though the bar (unlike last time) was full, space was made for them at the corner. Greetings were exchanged, backs were slapped, drinks were ordered.
“Gimme a Jameson”, shouted the Terror. “I can drink that smoother than anything!” six sets of eyes turned to me, all of us having been there the last time someone said that.
I smiled, and considered it a wedding gift.
“I can drink that smoother than you.” I said. Bigger grins all around.
The shots get set up, the shots get knocked down.
And I yell “Clear the bar!!!”

Now, I have no doubt that this time around, I drank it smoother than him. I’m not saying he dribbled all over himself, because that would be rude. But he was getting married, so give him a memorable send off.

“CLEAR THE BAR!!!”

The regulars started laughing and moved away towards the back wall. The new folk were looking on in disbelief as the story was explained to them, and they moved against the wall.
“Hey Otto!” I called to the bartender as I slipped out of my shirt and started undoing my belt (with a little wiggle. You know, for the crowd). “How about a slide this time around?”
Otto laughed and sprayed down the bar below the taps with seltzer. *Remember that the taps are the demarcation point. It’ll come up again.*
While Otto finished hosing down the bar, I got out of the rest of my clothes, making it as sexy as only a 170lb six-footer in need of a shave and a haircut can.

At this point, the people who’ve figured out what’s going on are laughing and clapping, while the rest are looking very very puzzled, and perhaps a bit aghast.

So naked me goes back by the dartboard, and, clad only in a worn pair of boat shoes, bellows “CLEAR THE BAR!!!” one last time before sprinting towards the rounded corner of the bar. I time my launch perfectly, feet leaving the ground as my fingers curl around the top of the bullnose edge of the bar and my arms drag me over it, adding to my momentum.
My stomach hits the bar in a splash of seltzer, and, with a slightly arched back to reduce drag, I zip down the bar, a carbonated rooster tail of spray marking my passage, as Otto sprays me in more seltzer (or possibly Diet Coke) as I slid by.
I’m in the zone! Only three other people have done the naked bar slide in this particular place, and I’ve already gone further than any of them! Why, I’ve almost made it as far as- Crap!
The taps!
(Remember those?)
They’re set at the middle of the bar, and jut out over halfway into the bar. I suddenly realize that maybe I had a tad too much momentum. And the bar is soaked, so no traction there.
So, like a latter day Indiana Jones avoiding a sword laden trap, I roll onto my side and watch as the taps near. I begin to slow down, my body contorted (and soaked) as speed bleeds off, decelerating to the point where, when I reach the tap, I’m going just fast enough…to scratch my chest…from below (???) to the center…of my nipple.

And the place goes wild!
I’ve seen plenty of stupid bar stunts, and been involved in plenty myself, but truly, this was an appreciative crowd.
So finally, I get off the bar and dry myself off. Several bar napkins staunch the flow of nipple blood. I make my way back to the end of the bar, past the smiling faces, the shocked faces, and the faces that have no idea what they’ve just seen, and lean against the bar near The Terror. We order another round (tequila this time for me) and toast. he leans over.
“I think you drank the Jameson smoother than me this time.”
“Nah. Congratulations, John. Have a happy marriage.”

LOL! What a wonderful mental image to start my day off with a beng! I’m so glad you got a scar to remember this by! Oh if only there would have been iphones back then! But you painted an excellent picture with your words. I’m curious, what would you estimate you were going at your top speed?

If OUR worlds collided… oh my. You and Leo would always be naked in bars. Not a gay thing. Just a drunken thing. And did you know dropping your pants to cover your flip flops pretending to be wearing shoes will not get you beyond the bouncer insisting on the no flip-flop rule of a New Zealand bar? True that.

That bar was nonsensical central.
We once built a deck behind it just to have a place to roast a whole pig.
I left after we got the pig set up to go on a job interview, then came back and ate the pig.
(And I got the job too!)

Ha! Although I don’t envy a cut nipple, that kind of story does need a war wound to go with it.
I am only sad to hear that this is the last installment of “naked in bars”. Surely you’ve left yourself open to future possibilities?

Oddly, I never tried naked bar sliding when I drank. And how did you get such a cool bartender? I used to get escorted out for dancing on the bar, even when I was sober (hey with everyone else wasted no one was going to remember what I did!) 😉

He was one of the three best bartenders I’ve ever known. That bartender gave me one of the two nicknames I still use, because he decided my real name didn’t have enough character to suit me.
(It also helped that we were going to school together at the time.)

Jameson is about the smoothest whiskey I’ve drunk, but it often leads to inappropriate behavior.

Do you still go to your bar? I’ve never had a bar. I’ve tried, but I’ve never found one in which I felt comfortable. Where I live it seems like everything is either a loud, sweaty, meat-market college bar or a grim, dingy, blue-collar, “why you talk with them big words?” bar.

The last time I was at that bar was probably for the naked snow angel story linked at the top.
I always liked the relaxed, vaguely run-down neighborhood bars. Even though I don’t go to bars often at all anymore, those are where I feel most at home. Especially if there’s a dart board.

I’ve done some whacky stuff in bars (and outside of bars, and going to bars and leaving bars and in dumpsters behind bars), but I can’t touch that one (nor would I want to touch anything to do with that one, without paremedics gloves and a hose). It’d be funny it were a ghost tale – you know where the bartender tells a few of the barflys that on some nights, when he’s sweeping up, he can almost hear the sound of leg hair against fizzy liquid and a strange whooping sound. And feel the rush of wind come over the place.

I was inordinately proud of that scratch while it lasted, Frank.
I expect many of the other tellings of this tale start with “so I was in a bar with this moron…”
Oh, the suffering I endure for my art. 😉

That is so very awesome. Makes me wish I’d spent more of my youth, or even middle age, in bars! I think it’s only big-city bars with smooth Jameson that could inspire this sort of thing, tho. You were completely naked???? Man. A whole new level of appreciation for the Guap has just flooded by circulatory system.

Jots fell in a country road-side ditch fully clothed once after downing more than enough vodka for one, no three people. That commercial “Help I’ve fallen and can’t get up” pretty much paints the image….please don’t tell anyone.

oh my word (to keep things clean in cyberspace). i would read this after having a collision with the fin of my surfboard – 6 stitches later! You had me realise that I’m truly grateful for a gash on the face and 2 intact nipples!

the other guy is my surfboard and it is fine! the bastard! but thanks! it’s a curve, like a moon, so i might have to become one of these women who goes and dances with the moon once a month. ehm, no, not likely!

Guap, I laughed my ass off. And then I sort of patted the “girls” and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll never put you in danger.”

Rockin’ post, and thanks for giving me the link! You know me so well. I have had my share of misadventures, but nothing like this. More like showing up at the piano bar after having had too much there the night before, and the bartender handing me my bra… Yikes. But the owner was stoked! I would do anything in those days to keep a gig!! Amy